Death, a Good Book and Dark Chocolate
by ToBetasered
Summary: The Master of Death, intent on enjoying his newly minted soul decides to take a vacation. Destination? Harry Dresden's Universe. Begins prior to the events of The Dresden Files. Warning, a rather dark humor.
1. Chapter 1

_**Nec mortem effugere quisquam nec amorem potest**__  
-No one can flee from death, or love..._

**Prologue**

And so they waited,  
Witness from conception,  
In silence bated.

Companion through life,  
More constant than any lover;  
In peace and in strife.

Our suffering, ameliorated;  
With humbling consolation,  
Until the hour fated.

And so they waited,  
Now and forever,  
In silence bated.

-**The Companion**, Death and Bad Poetry

~

And he remembered what it was that he had forgotten, that caused such a nagging sense of longing.

It was a lock of red hair...

~

As Harry vanished, what was once Albus Dumbledore looked upon the Master of Death.

"I trust that was to your satisfaction." He said in an almost diffident manner.

What was the Master of Death, toyed with a lock of red hair. "Yes, thank you Albus, that was the simplest way to do it. I can wait a lifetime, for that part of me to return, a lifetime of love, struggle and mortal woe..."

His lips were quirked in a buddha's smile, neither effusive nor grim, but rather the faintest trace of what could be either the begginings of amusement or the start of a scowl.

He spoke softly, in a voice not meant to intimidate yet did. His green eyes cool. "It matters not how long a wait, a hundred lifetimes if need be...if that is what it takes to settle my affairs then so be it. In the end, I will return to myself... it is, inevitable..."

The wizard with him smiled, "If I may ask, what do you intend to do in the meanwhile?"

Harry shrugged, "The next universe over seems mildly interesting, I think I'll go there... But enough about me, it's time."

The old man smiled, "I must admit that I been looking forward to this," He hesitated, "Do you think..."

"Don't worry," Haary patted the man on his back as a train pulled into the station, "Sometimes, princesses do marry their prince."

The smile he earned in return for that unspoken assurance could have illuminated a city.

Alone again once Dumbledore was away, Death's master looked from at the babe squalling on the floor of the station, to the ticket counter at the shadowed end of the platform.

Past the counter, was a locked gate...

Idly, he fished through a coat pocket, _"What to do..."_

**THE SEVEN LAWS OF MAGIC**

1. Thou shalt not kill by use of magic.

2. Thou shalt not transform others.

3. Thou shalt not invade the mind of another.

4. Thou shalt not enthrall another.

5. Thou shalt not reach beyond the Borders of Life

6. Thou shalt not swim against the Currents of Time.

7. Thou shalt not seek beyond the Outer Gates.

Ar-Rashid, the Gatekeeper went rigid so suddenly that the rest of the Senior Council, with whom he had been meeting, noticed it immediately. He did not acknowledge Ancient Mai's concern, nor the Merlin's demands for answers but instead gaped in horror.

In the back of his mind was an ominous sound that filled him with what could at best be most charitably described as dread. He was _terrified_.

That sound, it was the turning of a key...


	2. Chapter 2

_**Pulvis et umbra sumus - We are but dust and shadow - (Horace)**_

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

It crept upon me,  
As I sat in thought;  
Never even noticed,  
That it had hidden there.

Now my hope you see;  
Is that it has not,  
Ever even realized,  
That you are also here.

-**A Shadowed... Thing**, Death and Bad Poetry

Death, the Archive and '96 Barry Callebaut... extra bitter

* * *

_Now, let's get one thing clear, as the Master of Death I am neither omnipotent, nor omniscient. Heck, I'm not even immortal!_

I am however, **somewhat** omnipotent, **selectively** omniscient, and...still not immortal. It's just that, for me, Death is well... meh.

Now I know what you're thinking, either he's all-powerful or he isn't, either he's all-knowing or he's not! I wish it were so simple!

You see, I know all that is known to Death and Death knows all that is known to the dead. The Dead, keep no secrets- actually they won't shut up, but more on that later...

People die every day, for example, when I said the word 'People' an elderly and quite distinguished gentleman from Ulvik, Norway died while skinny-dipping in the waters of the Hardangerfjord, a monk passed away while meditating on the side of a road in Nepal, a mother of four died of cancer after six years of struggle and a street hustler in Chicago was stabbed to death over a sum of two dollars and forty-three cents....

All that they knew is now known to me, how to make mean pineapple shortcake, what it feels like to swim in winter and for a moment, forget the past; the satisfaction of a hard but simple life, the outrage of being killed over spare change....

All this and more, the sum totality of all things known and experienced by those who are now dead and not just the human dead; living things die every second of every day and those that have understandable memories or a story to tell, pass on their knowledge and tell their stories in death; to me.

Beyond that, nada, it's all up to me to learn what I can, however I can, and the living world is for the most part, a blank.

Hence, **selectively** omniscient. I know a lot, just not **everything**...

On the matter of omnipotence, well it depends on what you believe, literally. I have no inherent power, beyond what is due to my own soul's nature as a wizard; and most of that is living it up, no pun intended, elsewhere.

I have no real power as the Master of Death. The nature of my existence lies in the fact that Death is inevitable, even for so-called immortal beings, even for gods, even.... for death itself. I am inevitability, and that's it.

Beyond that, with a few unwelcome exceptions, I am only capable of accomplishing feats solely possible through my knowledge and experience which, all things considered, is actually quite a bit.

But I can't do **anything**...

Finally on the matter of immortality, well that's actually a bit ironic really.

I am in essence, the anthropomorphic manifestation of the Inevitability of Death. I am a fact. Call me Doom, call me Karma, call me Fate or whatever you wish, facts don't change no matter how much we wish they would, no matter how much we ignore them, or what is said to the contrary, or even what is believed.

Well, the last one could actually cause me some trouble, but fortunately all that it takes to make a believer out of someone is to simply wait until they croak and go **"SEE"**. Quite effective, but you don't have to take my word for it...

I do get some measure power from the beliefs of mortals, some foolish men and women who obsess over their end, seek to escape death, or to conquer and defeat it, the more they try, the greater the looming specter of my nature.

Others may go another route and seek immortality through fame or infamy, by building monuments, leaving chronicles, or most foolishly, by trying to cheat Death.

That's always amusing...

Those who know of the Master of Death often imagine the most absurd things. Thanks to those beliefs I often have to be careful when I speak, being able to kill with the merest whisper, sounds cool, but as a result, most of my attempts at conversation in the past often ended with the other participants either pissing themselves in fear...

Or in the case of my first and last conversation with War, ending with me being run through repeatedly with a rather big knife, because he didn't like my _tone_...

I avoid dark alleyways on principle...

Unpleasant, I tell you...

Oh, and don't let me get started on my eyes, His Murderous Look. His Deadly Stare. A Petrifying Gaze...

GAHHHH!

So, I'm not immortal, I have no need to be.

I AM.

Which was part of the trouble... Inevitability does not Change unless change in inevitable. Which is why, when I sought to give myself a makeover and inure my nature somewhat from the whims of belief, I hatched a plot some sixteen hundred odd years ago to use a trio of miscreants to give myself and edge.

And they thought they were soo clever... _snerk_

Now I have a soul, one that suits me perfectly and provided that I feed and water it carefully, I should be reasonably protected from some of the more, disenchanting aspects of my existence. Not that it worked the last time, but I'd just love to see the Gatekeeper try to Bind me to a Name...

-heh, heh, heh-

No matter what I said it wasn't as if I wanted a confrontation with the wise of this reality. Due to my semi-divine nature any such confrontation would eventually end in my favor, unless another Power intervened, although there weren't all that many who could and even fewer that would. The most likely outcome was that I'd end up facing the collected might, such as it was, of a host of supernatural beings and wise, that would just be... _tedious_

So when I picked up Tom, and opened the Gates, I chose my moment of entry carefully. No doubt the Gatekeeper of this period must be going wild trying to figure out who entered, where and when they are.

The list of luminaries that have a key is rather short and almost without exception quite nasty, on account of being mostly of the many tentacled, many eyed, many fanged variety. The Old Ones have mostly lost theirs or been abjured entry by the collective Powers.

The few entities that still have a key and can enter at will more often than not, DON'T LIKE THE GATEKEEPER!

The little shit must be going insane....

Still, personal feelings aside, I deliberately chose my point and time of entry at the time and place where Death was strongest, Time most chaotic, and the Gatekeeper, likely to be rather distracted.

The End of the World...

* * *

**Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden**

* * *

Collins didn't die without a fight, not that that was any consolation.

Her death curse however, had been useful in dealing with imps summoned by the warlocks.

"Rooaaaaawwwwrrr!"

That just left big and ugly...

"Forzare!" I roared and flipped a car on top of it. A Saab, that's what you get for not buying American.

Unfortunately, Tiny didn't want to stay down, and with another roar, raised the car over his head like an Olympic weightlifter, preparing to heave it at me.

I wasn't interested in playing catch with a SUV, and the skin crawling feeling I was getting from the factory behind me wasn't making matters any better.

This time, I added a touch of soul fire.

"Forzare!"

The few seconds that the demon had been down gave me the time I needed to focus, all of my grief, my rage, and every shred of the anxiety that I was feeling over the fates of the two young Wardens I'd sent into the meat processing plant behind me. They were probably dead.

_The others should have been finished by now..._

Ever see one of those old road-runner cartoons, when the coyote's about to get whacked over the head?

-WHUMP-

The pressure wave blew dust in my face and ruffled my black leather duster. A silvery spike of materialized kinetic force pinned the demon where I had pile-driven it, and the car, into the ground.

_Hope someone's got insurance..._

The screeching cries and keening were slightly gratifying, but if it was wailing, that meant it was still more or less intact and more importantly **here** in the real world. That probably meant that it wasn't as injured as it wanted me to think and possibly hoping I wouldn't notice-

My shield takes the brunt of the fire coming out of the thing's tail end. The modifications I put in after nearly losing a hand work perfectly for keeping away the searing heat. Though, from the smell of it, this was hellfire and I was in trouble if I kept using my soul fire to counteract it. so...

-WHUMP-

The fire cut out...

-WHUMP-

-WHUMP-

-WHUMP-

Just for good measu- _did it just a twitch?_

-WHUMP-

I don't have time to see if I killed it or not. A quick look over my shoulder showed me that Tiny's body was dissolving into a noxious puddle of goo which would probably give some janitor nightmares.

_I'm not cleaning that up..._

I'm tired, more than a little drained, but I've got to see what hell I put those two kids that I sent in there through.

_I didn't mean it literally..._

I was just sneaking a look 'round a corner, unfortunately this was just as Warlock A happened to be facing me and the psycho looked me right in the in the eye. I didn't feel a Soul Gaze come on which was probably a good thing cause crazy doesn't wash off that easily. The tension however, was getting thick as he stared me down, covered from head to toe in blood.

I broke first, and execising great wit tried to lie my way out of this potentially volatile situation. In a passable falsetto I said, "Um, Avon Lady!"

_Okay, so I didn't exactly have high hopes for a peaceful end to the day..._

The bastard started laughing.

Henceforth called Chuckles, he tried to take my head off with something that reeked of evil, pain and blood. It took out most of the wall above my head and continued on behind me for some ways from the sound of things.

But that wasn't what got to me.

On what should have been the factory floor, were two concentric Circles drawn in blood, and judging from the piles of skinned carcasses laying around at the cardinal points of the circle, it wasn't pig's blood.

Because the carcasses were human...

Chuckles was gloating about...something, while firing off several more of those hair-raising bolts of inky, blood-tinged darkness.

I noticed that he never crossed out of the line of blood, just shuffled along the inside of the outermost of two circles, he was probably buying time for the other six dark magic users, congregated about the outer edge of an inner circle, which held within its center what looked like a large rubrics cube.

I can't describe it better than that, I couldn't get a good look at it, on account of the sicko trying to kill me and all...

I can say that it was the source of my bad feeling.

_Where's my backup? Ramirez!_

That was when I found them.

I'd sent Wardens Travers and Grace into the factory with instructions to intervene only if necessary. At the time, I'd thought Carlos was on his way soon with a force of twenty Wardens and that the swarm of Imps and Tiny were the bigger threat.

Oh, sweet hindsight.

When I say I found them, I mean, I tripped over what was left of Travers' skull which was the biggest piece of her still intact, and landed face first in an unpleasantly smelling mess that was probably Grace, poor guy.

_I'd still be gagging if I wasn't busy trying to stay alive..._

They were younger than Ramirez!

I'd like to say that I rose to my feet in a towering rage and a vortex of magical power with staff in hand and cut Chuckles down to size. In reality I sort of half rose and crab-walked/rolled out of the way of the next blast. I couldn't continue fighting like this, the next mystical attack that got sent my way I parried into the ceiling.

I could feel the blood and death magic tug at me as I turned it away. Whoever these people were, they had to enjoy causing pain to work at this level. So much pain and blood...

Blood...

Pain can go both ways, there's the pain one causes others and the pain that one endures. Pain is an unavoidable facet of life, as is blood...

I finished drawing the circle in time, it had the added benefit of drawing away power from whatever ritual the warlocks were performing. Their guttural chanting took on a frantic and distinctly dismayed tone.

Tapping into the ambient power was simple.

And painful...

_Never again!_

The piles of skinned humans helped to make it bearable.

Chuckles wasn't quite so happy any more, my circle alone was damping down the amount of power going into his. I could tell the moment he realized this.

It's when he peeled off his face...

I don't even bother blocking his next death spell. The curse washed over the boundary of my ward and my circle leached away at its power, growing stronger.

I slammed the butt of my staff into the ground, drawing more of the power and agony into my body...

And I screamed myself hoarse.

A while back, I learnt a painful but valuable lesson about limiting myself to direct effect spells. I tried using my shield bracelet to ward off burning napalm. The fuel was deflected away from me, the heat, wasn't.

Now, I did something similar.

The scream was not a direct effect spell and I could see that it worked by the way Chuckles was staggering about like a punch-drunk brawler bleeding from his ears, the members of the inner circle seem not to have taken the surprise well either. One of the Warlocks stumbled into the innermost ring and wailed as first her clothes, then her skin and then her flesh was stripped from her bones.

Then her bones turned to ash.

Hell's Bells!

Seriously alarmed, _not that that I wasn't already but this was more of a ohshitohshitohshit kinda thing_, I drew in another jolt of power and added soul fire to it. I'm going to be paying for this in the morning, provided of course, that I live that long.

The life giving magic that I send toward their circle completely obliterates the death spell Chuckles hurled at me and crashes against the barrier with a resounding boom.

As my ears cleared, I could hear the sounds of barked commands and running feet.

_Finally..._

Seeing my relief, Chuckles pitched in with his two cents.

"Tis matters not!" He screamed. "Neither thine spell nor thine enchanted iron shalt breach mine barrier!"

Idly wondering where this guy learned his English, more like which century, I raised my free hand and screamed back at him.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST SAY THAT THEN!"

Then I pull out my .44 and shoot him....

Suppressing a vicious surge of satisfaction, I aimed at the inner circle of warlocks. They hadn't stopped chanting in spite of my efforts and seemed to be reaching a crescendo.

A satisfying as it would be, I aimed at the box, instead of Grace's murderers.

"HARRY, NO!"

I squeezed the trigger...

* * *

**The Other Harry**

* * *

I whistled at the wave of devastation that spread across the world leaving naught but the dead, demons and a precious few tortured souls. As I had thought, the Gatekeeper used the Time Gate when the situation proved untenable. His memories of that possible future would only stay within his past self's mind for a short while before it faded, a brief interval with which to avert disaster.

While his past and future selves were distracted, I settled into my time...

I'd have to lay low as I created a place for myself in the mortal world, not draw attention as I built my Sanctum, not-

A seventeen year old girl, wearing Levi's walked up to me in the middle of an empty street in Marseille, June of 1721.

"Hello Harry Potter."

...

....

.....

"Luna, why am I not surprised..."

* * *

**AN: Yep, another one that started out as a blog post, I'll put the disclaimer here**

**I own neither the Dresden Files nor Harry Potter those works are the genius of authors I don't hold a candle to. This story is not for profit and is a work of fanfiction, no animals were hurt in the creation of this story and any real world similarities to the demonic entities depicted herein, both real and imagined is simply a coincidence. TTFN**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Libenter homines id quod volunt credunt  
- Men gladly believe that which they wish for. (Caesar)**_

* * *

Chapter 2

Darkly I spat grey ash,  
As I toiled away under the lash;  
Oh why do men not take heed?  
O' rider upon his pale steed.

They chased 'm 'cross fen 'n bush!  
O! Freedom, but a fair rush!  
O'er dreams, I gladly indeed,  
Willingly, bare breast, and bleed!

-**Toiling Away**, Death and Bad Poetry

* * *

**_Death, the Black and a 1913 Ghana, Divine Dark Chocolate... bitter sweet_**

* * *

As I have stated before, I am _not_ immortal. I AM. Death is a fact, a facet of reality older than anything that exists, even the universe itself. Thus, to put it simply, Death is real, certainly far _realer_ than the decades long lifetimes of mortals, or the centuries lived by the wise. Even the earth in its scant few billions of years is but a blink of an eye in the face of the Death OF Universes.

It was something to ponder as I lay buried under the pile of corpses. The stench of rotting flesh was oppressive and foul but from my perspective, it was the wailing of the lost and terrified souls about me that was truly nausea inducing. I wriggled, and stretched. I gripped slippery, decomposing matter that came apart under my fingernails as I pulled.

I can still taste it; the memory of death is eternal. I can still feel the slickness of the maggot-ridden corpses against my skin. Did you know? The proteins and fats released from a decomposing animal bind easily to hair and skin. Even washing with lye soap, I still smelled of that graveyard for more than a fortnight afterward.

My scrabbling fingers, nails chipped and broken, eventually broke through the surface of the mass grave that I had been dumped in. My 'Luna', as I had taken to calling her privately, was awaiting my return. She was standing beside the last of the surviving Catholic priests in the city. What a shame...

A shame because the sight of a me, as I clawed my way free of that mass grave, was a vision that inspired such horror and terror in the poor Father as to stop his weakly beating heart.

_Great, now I have to bury him too..._

A snowy owl descended, clutching a wide-brimmed black hat in its talons. It dropped the item into my slimy hands and alighted upon Luna's shoulder, instead of my own filthy body.

Also beside the dead priest was tall skeletal figure, dressed in a dark flowing coat and carrying a large scythe. Taking in the sight, I scowled and said, "I hope that you're proud of yourself! That was the last priest in the city willing to perform funerals and give extreme unction."

The being's face was a bare skull that shifted within shadowy cloak that it wore. Amber light's like flames passed for eyes. The twinkling gaze of Death. At my words its bony shoulders shrugged as it replied in a matter of fact tone. **DEATH HAS NO NEED FOR PRIDE, ONLY A STRONG WORK ETHIC AND A WILLINGNESS TO DO OVERTIME ON THE WEEKENDS AND HOLIDAYS.**

I rubbed my sore neck and sighed, spitting out a few corpse beetles in the process. "Well let's get on with it," I said, "The guys that killed me can't be too far away. It wouldn't do to leave them lying about."

I would later sometimes wonder, at the fact that in those times I felt naught but a slight distaste at the prospect of having to replace my thoroughly ruined clothing. When the time comes for my pet soul to return to me I can't help but be curious, will my experiences inspire a greater horror than my sheer inhumanity?

This is how things came to be this way...

* * *

**Marseille, June of 1721**

* * *

Before I begin, let's have a bit of history from the mundane side of things...

_In 1720, the plague bacillus yersinia pestis arrived at the port of Marseille from the Levant. A merchant ship, the Grand-Saint-Antoine, had departed from Sidon in Lebanon, having previously called at Smyrna, Tripoli, and at a plague-ridden Cyprus._

Following the death on board of a Turkish passenger, several crew members also fell victim to the plague, including the ship's surgeon. The ship was wisely refused entry to the port of Livorno and, on arrival at Marseille, was promptly placed under quarantine by the port authorities.

However, due to a trade monopoly with the Levant, this important port had a large stock of imported goods in warehouses and was actively expanding its trade with other areas of the Middle East and in the New World.

Powerful city merchants needed the silk and cotton cargo of the ship for the great medieval fair at Beaucaire and pressured authorities to lift the quarantine...

Thus began the Great Plague of Marseille, the last recurrence of an epidemic of bubonic plague in the city, since the devastating epidemics that began in the fourteenth century with the European Black Death.

Ahh, the south of France in summer...

"...avez pitie de nous..."

Summer in full bloom...

"Mon Dieu!"

The sea breeze, so warm and enticing...

"Mon Dieu!"

Oh what a clear night sky....

"Avez pitie..."

And streets lined with the plague ridden dead.

What to do...

"Pensez-vous de la petite enfants..."

As I stated before, I can be wherever, whenever there is death. The Gatekeeper's use of the Time Gate created a convenient path that I used for my own benefit to travel to the 18th century without causing a stir. Of course I could have chosen other times in which to appear but there was a reason, several actually; that made Marseille the best choice.

The Gatekeeper of this time and the senior members of the White Council were currently grappling with an invasion of plague demons known collectively as the Loimos. These demons in the past had contributed to some 45 million of the 450 million deaths attributed to the Black Death. As a result of the mystical enhancements that they gave to the plague, most the deaths caused by them were from the ranks of the hedge-witches and the wise.

As it happens, in June of 1721, the current Gatekeeper would contract a crippling illness and eventually pass away, leaving the Loimos, and other supernatural threats from beyond the gate to be dealt with by the Wardens. It was during this time that Al-Rashid would begin to distinguish himself, having been set on the path to becoming the next Gatekeeper by his predecessor.

A path which would eventually cross my own...

* * *

I had sought to use this chaotic period of time to become acclimated to my sliver of soul. In this city, during this time, no one would look twice at a new arrival. Plague-ridden, the wise would steer clear of this place, making any incidents I might cause easier to hide.

I hoped that it would at least be enough time to allow me to comprehend the queer stirrings of my brand new immortal soul. Otherwise, even blending in peacefully among the mundane of this world would be a difficult chore and hiding what I was from the irritating wise, next to impossible.

I can give no clearer example of what I mean than when I attempted to say hello to some dumbfounded transients when I first appeared in the city...

* * *

_A man bedecked in shadows, appeared in the middle of the street. He did not fade into existence, neither did he step onto the street through some portal nor enter by any other means either fantastic or mundane. HE, was a being much realer that the world around HIM, as such HE was simply THERE. _It would have been more accurate to say that the street appeared around _HIM_, that the world faded into existence about_ HIM _like some manner of mirage or ghostly phantasm.

HIS eyes were green pinpricks of light, like stars in the night sky; they shone from within the impenetrable darkness that lurked under his wide-brimmed hat. The beggar's pleas, like the very air in their lungs, froze.

Truly, like prey caught in the gaze of a predator, they were trapped helpless under that singular murderous look. Then, a voice spoke, passing from the terror's lips into their heads. It gravely intoned_..._ **COWER, BRIEF MORTALS, FOR THE MASTER OF DEATH HAS COME TO MARSEILLE.**

It just slipped out, I swear!

And that was how they found me, as I stood in the middle of the abandoned street, trying to come to grips with the intricacies of my pet soul.

"Hello, Harry Potter."

I turned and stared.

"Luna, why am I not surprised…"

* * *

As I have alluded, there are other manifestations of anthropomorphic personification in existence. The anthropomorphic personification of War was only one of these beings that I can remember encountering. I've never had the need to seek them out as inevitably they all eventually come to me whether they want to or not.

Of these small gods there were only two that have ever sought me out of their own volition.

One of them was standing before me now...

Turnip earrings dangling from her ears, swung as she shook her head ruefully.

"Luna?" She tilted her head slightly, "Do I remind you of Luna?"

The skin about her eyes crinkled cutely as she gave me a coy look. "Or did Luna, remind you of me?"

In a fluttering of wings, the pale form of a familiar snowy owl settled on my shoulder with a soft trill.

* * *

In the Roman Pantheon Trivia was considered an aspect of Hecate, Goddess of Witchcraft. To those who knew better she was, most obviously in the guise of Luna, the anthropomorphic personification of Useful Little Facts. The Owl on my shoulder was Sentia, the personification of the childish joy felt when Learning New Things. It made sense that they should show up. These two were goddesses of learning and knowledge.

Death was the ultimate mystery, and I, its master…

"You're not getting rid of us that easily." Trivia said with a smile.

Sentia, in the form of an owl, chirped happily in agreement.

* * *

The White Council's archivists, when I finally came to the Senior Council's notice, would mark that Monsieur Henri-Jacques D'Is-Pitar first appeared in Marseille, France in the records of the city notary Jean-Philippe Bernier.

* * *

_A man by the name of Monsieur D'Is-Pitar has taken up the gruesome but necessary task of clearing the streets of bodies for a sum of fourteen sous paid at the end of seven days of toil at the expense of the city. For a sum of two ecu d'argent paid to him in advance, Monieur D'Is-Pitar, whose given name is Henri-Jacques, has agreed to provide the means to deliver securely a coffin to his employer's family tomb and seal it within. For further fee of one ecu d'or, the Monseiur also provides transport for one of the few surviving priests in the city to meet the terminally ill for extreme unction. He is a brave man, strange in his manner, but fair…_

**Records of Mr. Bernier 1721**

* * *

The wagon, I cobbled together from driftwood collected at the harbor. The nails were likewise scavenged. There were enough deaths so that the demand for skilled workers was high. I worked as a scrivener for a few months until my employers fell ill and died. For a time I kept accounts at a merchant house, until the same fate befell the few remaining workers there as well.

Thus I passed my time in the city as a Jack of all Trades, I was a baker until my customers were too ill to come to the store, a deliveryman until there was no one alive to send or receive goods. My second longest stretch was as a blacksmith, where ages of metalworking experience came to the fore. I built the wagon in the yard behind the smithy. I forged the wheel bindings from strips of scrap metal when the owner of the forge took ill. I cared for his family after he died until they all passed away in that one terrible year…

Through it all they were with me. Sentia in the guise of dear Hedwig and Trivia as my old schoolmate, though I would later learn that she was actually reincarnating herself as the Archive of all Human Knowledge.

It wasn't an easy life, and it was made more difficult by the fact that the White Council had instituted a barrier to prevent magical humans from spreading the plague beyond the city. A small section of the vampire population ended up being caught within, being mostly fledgelings, they suffered horridly. I'm afraid that many of the grave-diggers and wagoneers who cleared the streets of dead, met their end in manners unrelated to the plague. I suffered more than a few of these attacks my self.

Being drained for blood was a novel experience, but quickly grew old as the fledgeling Red and Black Court vampires failed to realize in their desparation, that there was no profit in drinking my blood...And they were getting more creative about how they killed me. See in those days you'd normally expect to held upside down over a chintz basin as you bled out. The noble-born vampires would then be fed the blood in gold and jewel encrusted goblets brought by servants so as not to stain their frilly chiffron ascots. These desperate younglings simply ripped open my jugular and let the geysering blood spray over their parched lips. Then to ensure that I didn't turn, they dismembered me.

It was the last part that was getting on my nerves, that rusty saw they were using was _DULL_! Dammit!

* * *

**Marseille, October of 1722**

* * *

We heard them before we saw them, that desparate keening. These vampires fed on the life-giving blood and essense of humans. I who was anything but, possesed veins which coursed with the inevitability of death, rather than the dearth of possibilities in the blood of the living. The general effect, was as if a dehydrated man, under the desert sun, drank a gallon alcohol mixed in with salt. Needless to say, they were rolling around in agony, hours before dawn for all the world to see.

I'd have pitied them if this particular pack, hadn't had the temerity to dismember my body before dumping it in a mass grave...ugh, I wasted hours just pulling myself together...

Still, I couldn't just leave them lying around.

Rooting aroud on my way there, I found a shovel left behind by the grave-diggers. I brought it back with me and rolled one of the gagging vampires onto its back. Slowly, I lifted the tool over my head.

**COME UNDEAD THING, THINE HOUR IS AT HAND**... Death spoke up behind me with a slight modicum of glee.

I swung the edge down...

* * *

**AN: Yep, another one that started out as a blog post, I'll put the disclaimer here, the last chapter was a bit mangled by the editor, it should be fixed now. Unfortunately the content editor doesn't allow me to put in all the effects I'd like eg. Death's distinctive speaking front from Discworld but it gets the message across.**

**I own neither the Dresden Files nor Harry Potter those works are the genius of authors I don't hold a candle to. This story is not for profit and is a work of fanfiction, no animals were hurt in the creation of this story and any real world similarities to the demonic entities depicted herein, both real and imagined is simply a coincidence. TTFN**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Legum servi sumus ut liberi esse possimus - We are slaves of the law so that we may be able to be free. (Cicero)**_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

The madmen came for Guille,  
They dragged him out of bed.  
They broke him on the wheel,  
And then they cut off his head.

"The world must burn," They said,  
"If, it is to change!"  
How this helps the dead,  
I find it very strange...

The madmen run and shout,  
That all men are free.  
Can't tell what's novel about,  
A fact so obvious to me.

They burned the city to the ground  
And bade us children to laugh.  
Chuckling at the smoldering mound,  
Such a silly, epitaph...

-**A Planh for Guille**, Death and Bad Poetry

* * *

**Death, the Merchant and a 1906 Columbian, Casa del Luker... darkly distinguished**

* * *

The man whistled a haunting tune as he rode in the back of a carriage. A dark, wide-brimmed hat was perched jauntily on his head, obscuring his face in shadow.

The carriage was drawn by two horses. One was an elderly black gelding, the other, a seemingly younger pale white stallion. The driver was enveloped in a thick black cloak, covered so completely that the reins vanished into the darkness of his sleeves.

The black coach was travelling down a slight slope in winter. A mild blizzard shrouded the world in white, yet still the horses were pressed onward. They did not stop as the turnout crossed onto the surface of a frozen lake, headed toward a small island shrouded in white. The rider absent-midedly scribbled away in the pages of a small brown diary.

A while later, the carraige pulled to a stop before a small thatch cottage. The rider descended and turned to the driver, staring unflinchingly into a pair of eyes like hot coals.

"Do you want to come in for some hot chocolate?" The rider asked, "You can put the horses in the stable and stay the night if you wish."

Though covered from head to toe, in black cloth, the ominous-looking driver was still able to give off a feeling of amiability. Eyes like flickering flames flared as if stoked before a voice that sounded like grinding rocks spoke.

"HOT CHOCOLATE... THANK YOU BUT NO, I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT TO KEEP." The figure said as it gave a respectful nod. "ANOTHER TIME, PERHAPS; GOOD NIGHT."

"Good night." The man replied as the horses began to trot away from his doorstep. Without further ado, the man opened his front door and quickly stepped inside before the driving winds could do much damage. Fom outside, the lights from the cabin was the only spot of illumination on the entire island.

Inside, was a cluttered room, filled with displays of miscellaneous items, stored in groups. There were crystal glasses, goblets and plates on shelves along one wall. a collection of swords in a bin beside the hat-stand. Some pistols lay in a glass display, next to an array of jeweled necklaces. Maps were stacked next to charts and scrolls in a pile upon a back table, Bookshelves dominated one whole corner of the room.

The single room must have been larger than it at first seemed, for books, crystals, guns and jewelry was not the end of what was contained in there. Everything from abaci to zebra hides, crystal eggs and globes, vials of medicines, perfumes and bundles of feathers upon heaps of leather and textiles. In a special place of honor there lay a bit of bone, it was next to a shard of wood, a rusted, blood-encrusted nail and a box containing six pieces of silver...

The figure weaved his divested himself of hat, cloak and scarf. Revealed was a head full of dark unruly hair, green eyes and a lithe frame. The diary was carried into the back of the store, where some rummaging could be heard being carried out. The young man reappeared, deressed in a short-coat and suit. He stopped for a second to put on a shopkeepers apron before moving behind one of the counters next to the door.

Reaching up, he grabbed a pull-rope and tugged...

There was the chime of a bell, before darkness turned to light, and the moaning sound of wind vanished.

On a Parisian street, the door to a store opened a a shop-clerk stepped outside carrying a sign. The man hung it on the door before hurrying back inside.

It read:

**MSSR. DISPATER**

**P****AWN ****B****ROKER**

**N****EEDFUL THINGS BOUGHT AND SOLD**

_WISHES GRANTED FOR A PRICE_

Oddly, to all but a few, the last line seemed to swim from one corner of the eye to the other, remaining unseen...

* * *

**Paris, 1806**

* * *

And so time passed. The eighty odd years since leaving Marseille behind with Trivia and Sentia. Those days were lived peacefully for the most part. I moved behind the scenes of the mystical world. I claimed for myself an island of the coast of Brittany, and another in the New World, linking the two in my own special way to form a personal sanctum.

From then on it was a simple matter of doing as I wished until my darling soul returned to me. I'd tried my hand at quite a few trades in the Plague City, and pretended to be a wandering journeyman craft-worker during my travels. It was fun for a time, I was a scribe in the court of a king, a haberdasher for a noble, a cobbler in Italy, a blacksmith in England, I was a guide in Egypt and an archeologist's apprentice.

I had a busy life...

But in the end I decided that it would be best to settle down for a while. Trivia still flitted about, in the guise of Luna, and Sentia was often a regular visitor to my humble abode. All across the world, I created linked pathways through the Nevernever. At each entrance and exit I built a store, each one hidden and protected using my knowledge of the mystical arts.

Thus Dispater's International was born...

There was another reason for me to do as I did. In a few more years that brat Gatekeeper would be ready to challenge the Time Gate. And then...

Joy...

I know I've never truly explained just why I hate the Gatekeeper. In truth hate would be far too strong a word, and it's not as if I hate Al-Rashid in particular...

Thou shalt not swim against the Currents of Time

Hypocrite...

I comes down to this, there's only one real way to travel through time without seriously screwing with cause and effect. People may speak of Fairy travel sending one into the distant future or past, but that's actually quite different from real time travel.

What I speak of, is not journeying to other realities, or being held in stasis beyond the real world. I mean using the so-called 'Time Gate' to travel back in time, into the past, your past and change it.

The reason why I'm pissed has to do with the simple fact that the Time Gate in another reality, would probably be called...

The Veil of Death...

Thou shalt not reach beyond the Borders of Life

Now are you starting to understand?

Once upon a time, the first Gatekeeper sought to stave of the inevitable (Stirke One).

To do this the wizard summoned forth innocent old me and **TRIED TO BIND ME TO A NAME!**

(That's strikes Two and Three right there...)

Of course he didn't succeeed and I have since taken steps to avoid such a thing recurring. Unfortunately, the whole affair did allow the Gatekeeper to discover a way to temporarily transfer his consciousness through time to his past self using the sacrifice of his own life in order to do so.

It's a loophole in the system that every Gatekeeper has taken advantage of since.

They pay for their crimes by dying a thousand deaths, a thousand times, again and again until inevitably, they pass into my hands...

Perhaps it's childish of me, holding a grudge... but that still won't stop me from letting Death and Binky get some exercise... I have them chase down the Gatekeepers every time they try for the Time Gate.

The old man breathed in the desert wind once more before falling still. The younger man at his side will have to perform the ritual soon but for a moment, he wept. "This death is not fair!"

He was therefore startled when a cloaked figure spoke up from behind him, halfway to the door, carrying an empty hour-glass in one hand.

He quiverd as a burning gaze settled upon him and spoke in a voice that thundered without sound, echoing unnaturally.

**DEATH IS FAIR. DEATH IS VERY FAIR. IT IS LIFE THAT IS UNFAIR. IT IS IN LIFE THE GOOD LIVE IN PAIN WHILE THE EVIL PROSPER. IN LIFE SOME SUFFER ATROCITY AFTER ATROCITY WHILE OTHERS ARE PAMPERED. IT IS IN LIFE THAT MEN SUFFER. YET IN DEATH, ALL MEN ARE EQUAL. IN DEATH, REGARDLESS OF WEALTH, AGE AND POWER; REGARDLESS OF WHETHER ONE IS GOOD OR EVIL... ALL ARE ACCORDED AN EQUAL MEASURE OF DEATH.**

And as it walked out the door, Death paused again, **I'M HOPING THAT YOU ARE A GOOD RUNNER, **It said**, BINKY NEEDS THE EXERCISE...**

* * *

One of my employees, Hugo, came over to me and laid out a collection of object on my desk. There was a set of crystal vials containing what I surmised to be Spanish fly from the label, a flagellation set consisting of whips, chains, gags, anal-plugs, blinder, binders, blindfolds, O-rings, pins and harness. And then there was the jewel.

I looked at it and smiled...

When these things come by I always ask my people to ensure that they have the genuine article, so breathlessly I said, "Proof?"

What Hugo had brought to me was a nine inch long piece of ivory, slightly curved and carved in exquisite detail from the smooth cap at its head to bulbous base. Hugo pointed to an inscription midway down, at the top of a series of rings forming parallel ridges that continued on until two inches shy of the base of the object.

My mouth dry, I retrieved a letter from a hidden strong box and compared the writing.

As I saw that they matched, all that I could numbly saw to my workman at first was, "I love you..."

To which he shuffled uneasily and replied, "Um, I love you too sir?"

Of course by then I had caught myself and responded, "An extra Billy goat at the end of the day Hugo, good work!"

And my faithful employee's Troll ancestry shone through in the truly horrific grin that confounded even the most powerful of veils that I had cast upon the most un-human of those in my employ. "Thank you sir!" Hugo grunted with relish as he lumbered back to the front after leaving behind the deed of reciept.

In case you were wondering the french pun that was inscibed in distinctly feminine script upon the dildo in my possession could be loosely translated to mean...

_"N__OT__ T__RUE __TO__ L__IFE__, S__ADE __TO__ S__AY__."_

I set it down next to my collection of Royal Crown Derby bone china plates and vases...

* * *

_**Speaking of the Derby...**_

* * *

Al-Rashid now understood why his predecessor had been so insistent on mental and physical fortitude...

**HIGH HO BINKY, AWAY!**

Death was in the lead in the race after the young Gatekeeper followed by War and Pestilence, while Famine lagged behind. Advised by the memoirs of his predecessors the wizard chose a carrening path down a steep, densely overgrown embankment.

Even as a spirit and moving literally at the speed of thought, Rashid still felt the slight bite of Death's scythe as it brushed just slightly against the back of his neck before he tumbled over the abyss into oblivion, merging for a time with his past self.

Coming to a stop in mid-air above the vast unending chasm in an impossible feat of equestrian handling. Death remarked...

**NEXT TIME A SMALLER HEAD START FOR YOU...**

It was a close thing, but Rashid managed to alter events as he had been shown for the benefit of the future. Quietly he stood in the shadows as the Merlin growled out the that the sentenced would endure under the Doom of Damocles. "Du Morne..." The wizard growled, "As all your kin, slippery as ever..."

And so time passed for me and Dispater's prospects grew over time. I'm sure that an adequate student of history with knowledge of where to begin, could probably plot a chart of our course through history.

There were wars of course, whether the 'World Wars' or the 'Six Day War' and a variety of other struggles. I had no part in that business with the Jews, Death does not _cause_ death humans are good enough at what they do.

I did on a number of occasions provide the 'W' service to a number of desperate families in those days. They and their grandchildren are frequent customers now. I was at Berlin and Hiroshima at the waning of the hour, as I was at the beginning...

**MSSR. DISPATER, NEW YORK**

And so it was that time moved on until one evening I had the dubious fortune to meet a delightful young woman called La Fey...

* * *

**AN: Yep, another one that started out as a blog post, I'll put the disclaimer here, the last chapter was a bit mangled by the editor, it should be fixed now. Unfortunately the content editor doesn't allow me to put in all the effects I'd like eg. Death's distinctive speaking front from Discworld but it gets the message across. And recently I've been having trouble with certain features so if something looks odd let me know.**

**I own neither the Dresden Files nor Harry Potter those works are the genius of authors I don't hold a candle to. This story is not for profit and is a work of fanfiction, no animals were hurt in the creation of this story and any real world similarities to the demonic entities depicted herein, both real and imagined is simply a coincidence. TTFN**


End file.
